Kiss Me, Kill Me
by Serenity Rose
Summary: Farfarello reflects back on the events of episode 18.


Kiss me, Kill me  
  
By Serenity Rose  
  
A short little thing I wrote when I was feeling a bit depressed. Farfarello's view on the events of Episode 18, "Farfarello".  
  
Warnings: SPOILERS. If you haven't seen the series, and you don't want to have the Farf's episode ruined, don't read this. Language, and maybe some yaoi hinting, I can't really decide. But seeing as there's usually yaoi in most of my fics… It's probably hidden somewhere I can't find.  
  
Disclaimers: I do not own Farf, I do not own Schwarz, I do not own Weiss (as much as I wish I did). I do not own Weiss Kruez, or Farfie's theme, "Kiss Me, Kill Me". Do not try to sue me. The only thing I really have in my pocket that would be close to money is… hmm… let's see… ah… lint.  
  
Now, off you go. Enjoy.  
  
***  
  
I sit still and lonely in the corner of my little room. I feel so small, even though the room is scarcely larger than a closet, I feel dwarfed by how large and foreboding it seems. The others had locked me in here, as usual, saying I was a danger to them… that I wouldn't function correctly unless they doped me up on sedatives and left me in this little cell to cool my head. They knew damn well I could function perfectly fine; maybe not so much the others as Brad, but nevertheless it was a known fact.  
  
Did all that really matter though? It doesn't feel like it. I can't feel anything at this point. Maybe it's just the drugs, or maybe it's the fact that I had finally killed that one person I had been meaning to kill, that one little nagging influence that drew me to tempt her again and again. I knew she wouldn't deny any chance to see me again. So why do I feel so numb now? I should be rejoicing. I should be ecstatic. I should be wallowing in fucking genki joy. Yet instead I feel like this. It doesn't make sense to me.  
  
I've never felt it before. Not for killing, not for stealing cookies from Nagi's little secret stash, not for cutting myself to the point of bleeding to death. Yet now that she was really gone, I feel this emptiness, this total lack of caring for anything. It's disconcerting.  
  
What should I care? She was a sinner. But… so am I… No… It was her fault in the first place. She was a nun, that one occupation where nothing is supposed to happen to you, you're supposed to be safe for the rest of your life, right? Wrong. It was her fault. She gave birth to me, and she was a nun. She's the one that made me kill my parents. She's the one to blame for all this misery.  
  
It's all her fault.  
  
The others think I'm insane. They look at me, the man they've worked beside for so long, and see a demented, angry, drunken-acting Irishman who has nothing better to do than kill himself and hurt God. It's not true. I know perfectly well what I'm doing every time I do it. I plan my every move out carefully before acting, plan so carefully that nothing could go wrong if I tried. I move silently, eerily, through every shadow, and when the time is right, I strike.  
  
Just like… a snake. I'm a snake. Some kind of serpent. Wasn't it a serpent that tempted Eve to take a bite from that apple? A forbidden apple… Such an idiotic idea… The Bible's full of that moronic shit.  
  
All I want to do right now is die.  
  
I look up to the ceiling of my little room. It looks so far up, even though when I'm standing up, my head brushes against it. It represents that sky that I almost never see, and that sanctuary that I will never see. Even though I deserve to see it, for all that suffering that son of a bitch has put me through.  
  
Did she go to Heaven?  
  
I stare coldly at the ceiling. I hope she didn't. I hope she went to hell, same as I will, so that she can know what it feels like to have to suffer eternally.  
  
A nun going to hell hurts God. It hurts him a lot.  
  
I grin at myself. I want to challenge that son of a bitch. I want to make him hurt so much he cries, weeps uncontrollably. I can do that. I can make damn sure that happens. But…  
  
I stand up, still glaring at the ceiling dangerously, now nearly face-to- face with it. My lip curls. Yes… I'll challenge him. I'll make him want to do something about it… but how about an offer first.  
  
"Come on, you son of bitch," I whisper, "I'll give you two choices. Kiss me, kiss my lips. Kill me, kill me forever. Kiss me, kiss my lip. Kill me! KILL ME GOD!!!"  
  
There's no response. No one replies. There's not even a rustling of Brad coming to tell me to shut the fuck up and hit me with his paper. They've gotten used to my random outbreaks by now.  
  
Alright, fine. He wants to play? I'll play.  
  
I flop back down into my corner, tugging my knees to my chin and hugging them tightly. I still glare at the ceiling… but this time, I feel something warm rolling down my cheek. I lift my hand to touch it. A tear? Why… why am I crying?  
  
I look back to the ceiling. I hate Him, I loathe Him, I want to make Him hurt, and suffer. The same way He made me hurt and suffer.  
  
But why can't He forgive me?  
  
~Owari~ 


End file.
